


And Now You're Home

by BisexualNerd



Series: Sad/Depressing Batfam Songfics (and fluff 'cause I can't handle all the angst alone) [2]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bruce Wayne Needs a Hug, Bruce Wayne is a Good Parent, Bruce Wayne-centric, Depression, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Guilt, Hurt Tim Drake, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Kinda, Plot Twists, Protective Bruce Wayne, Sad, Self-Hatred, Songfic, Tim Drake Angst, Tim Drake Has Mental Health Issues, if you're reading this, you're in for a surprise
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-23
Updated: 2020-05-23
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:41:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24319744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BisexualNerd/pseuds/BisexualNerd
Summary: Because he had been in this place before. In an empty (though full of things), unused and abandoned room.The room of hisdeadson.~~~~~~In which a suicide happened and someone is mourning his son.With a plot twist.And like the tag says, it has a happy ending.
Relationships: Tim Drake & Bruce Wayne
Series: Sad/Depressing Batfam Songfics (and fluff 'cause I can't handle all the angst alone) [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1747507
Comments: 14
Kudos: 236





	And Now You're Home

**Author's Note:**

> I has been sad so I write sad shits. But don't worry, there's fluff and cute shit too.  
> The first half is just full of angst though.  
> Hope you are ready.  
> Please, enjoy ❤
> 
> Title is from Letter To The Lost by Counterfeit.

Here's the song if you want more feels :)))

This is not the audio from the band but that video has some unnecessary stuff at the beginning and the end so let's just use the lyrics video.

[Counterfeit - Letter To The Lost [Lyrics]](https://youtu.be/pjt0jSLn6jE)

* * *

Bruce tentatively turns the doorknob to reveal a room inside. At the first sight, it looks like every teenager's bedroom. But the man knows better.

Because he had been in this place before. In an empty (though full of things), unused and abandoned room.

  
The room of his ~~dead~~ son.

> _It's been a little while now_   
>  _Since I last saw your face_

He takes a hesitant step inside, carefully avoids touching anything. All of his ~~dead~~ son's belongings are still in their places, covered in a thin layer of dust.

  
It's been a while after all.

  
He darts his eyes across the room, taking in the sight of his son's collection of photos he has taken of his family, from the one where everyone was gathering around the brightly-lit fireplace in a cold winter day last year, to the one where his kids were having a water fight in the yard a few months ago.

  
A few months ago when he was alive and well. Breathing and living and laughing with his siblings.

  
His hand trembles as he picks up a small photo, lying innocently on the messy desk. Bruce remembers having taken this. Dick insisted on a siblings pic and he was the only one available to hold the camera.

  
His fingers gently brush across the smooth surface where his son's face is. The boy was smiling in the picture, wide and happily, his eyes were twinkling like those billion stars on a dark night.

  
A lone tear falls down on the photo and Bruce sighs. He puts the square object back to its place on the mess and lets his eyes wander, taking in all the photos with his son in there.

  
Tim.

  
Timmy.

  
_His Timmy._

> _And I'm hoping that in death_   
>  _That you have found a better place_

He sits down on the soft mattress of the bed which has already been made by Alfred and stares at the window. It is autumn and the sky has been painted in an eternal blue colour, as beautiful and brilliant as those eyes that have been haunting his dreams for weeks.

  
A red leaf falls, slowly and elegantly, from a tree nearby. A red and black suit crosses his mind, along with a lopsided smile. A smile he had missed so much.

  
_Sweetheart...can you just come home?_

  
Silence.

  
_If you can't..._

  
_...please, for us, be happy, wherever you are..._

  
Pain wraps its ugly arms around him and his heart shatters into million pieces.

> _I still think about your childhood_   
>  _And the future you did waste_

There is an old stuffed cat next to the pillow. Tim said it had been the only one bought by his parents on one of their trips. He got the cat when he was about 3 or 4. The rest, which was all handpicked by Tim himself, have been donated to charity when he first moved into the manor. 

  
Callous fingers stroke the cat's right ear tenderly and Bruce can pretend for a moment that the fake fur has been the unruly mop of black hair of his child. But the stuffed animal is nowhere as warm as its late owner.

  
The cat's emotionless eyes stare at him and a different pair of blues flash in his mind.

Melancholy tingles in this chest as he is reminded of how much sadness and loneliness had shown through the façade of intelligence and mischief in those eyes.

  
He has really failed this time, hasn't he?

  
He thought he had failed one of his sons when Jason had been murdered by the Joker, but this has been Tim's choice to leave everything behind.

  
And just like how he could have got to Jason in time, he could have also noticed something off going on with Tim a few weeks ago. Before all of this had ever happened.

  
His hand gets caught in a suit jacket sleeve when he is making his way out of the room. Tim had worn this to the last WE he attended. The meeting that had added more frustration to his son's never-ending self-hatred and self-doubt, which both eventually led to _this._

If, by some miracle, he could have his son back, there would be no way he is letting Tim run the company again. At least not until he is stable and actually wants the company.

  
But then again, what miracle will it take to bring back someone and not damage them to insanity? 

> _I guess you felt you don't belong here_   
>  _And that haunts me every day_

He returns to his room. The letter still folded neatly on his work desk with wrinkles and stains of tears visible. The tired father takes a seat and opens the letter with his hands shaking even worse than earlier.

  
He can't focus on the words, but he knows exactly what has been written on it.

  
_...I'm sorry..._

  
_...have never felt like I belong anywhere..._

  
_...the family is whole..._

  
_...all are happy..._

  
_...I can go now..._

  
**_My job here is done._ **

  
_...love you all..._

  
_I love you, sweetheart..._

  
He chokes back a sob.

  
_...come back to me, please..._

  
The wind howling outside his window is the only reply he gets in return. Bruce crumples the piece of paper in his hand, cursing his own ignorance and stupidity.

  
Out of the corner of his eyes, he can see a ghost of a familiar face with a haunting smile disappearing into smoke, leaving behind crimson agony to paint his room a nightmare of broken hearts.

> _And I know that I get lonely when I think about your smile_   
>  _And those moments when I know I could have helped_   
>  _I should have tried_   
>  _And I'm sorry I get angry_   
>  _When I know what you have lost_   
>  _You're not alone_

He goes to bed at midnight but can't sleep. Every time he closes his eyes, a boyish face appears, first smiling but then slowly disintegrating into dust. 

  
So he stays awake, staring at the ceiling, feeling something missing from his chest. Maybe it's a warm, smaller body snuggling into his side, maybe it's the hope in his heart.

  
Tim could be here, safe in his arms, sleeping soundly without a care in the world. But he has failed his son, the one that has pulled him back out from the darkness and violence of his other son's death. The one that has brought back hope and love from his cold and apathetic heart.

  
The one that had _saved_ him.

  
He wonders how different it could have gone if he hadn't been so oblivious and unbelievably overconfident to think that all his kids have been fine.

  
He slams his right fist down on the soft cover in an irritated manner and lets his head fall back on the pillow, hating every fibre of his being for not having done anything to help his son.

  
And now Tim's gone, and it is all his fault.

> _I just wish you could have told us_   
>  _You had got to go_

He remembers the day he found his son in the bathroom, bleeding out in a puddle of scarlet, unmoving, not breathing.

  
He remembers cradling the bloodstained body in his arms and letting out anguished pleas for him to be alive to the sound of his other kids' footsteps as they all rushed into the room after him.

  
He remembers his eldest's face as the acrobat read the letter lying in a corner of the room, next to the bloody razor blade that had helped take his son's life.

  
He remembers seeing Jason stopped short at the doorway, face blank with all its colours drained away.

  
He remembers Cass crying and begging and denying as she fell to her knees to call for her younger brother to wake up.

  
And he remembers Damian's bewildered and shocked look just before the boy took a step back and almost fell on his butt.

  
_Come back to us..._

> _There's so many things unanswered_   
>  _So many things I wish I'd known_

The letter was as unclear as to the sky on the day of the funeral. He could, and would never understand why Tim had said all those things in the letter.

  
Why he had thought he didn't belong.

  
Why he had thought the family would still be whole without him with them.

  
Why he had thought all of them were happy to keep on living while missing a piece of their hearts.

  
Why he had thought he could just go.

  
The questions left unanswered and by the time night had fallen upon them all, rain fell from the sky as if it was mourning a light going out in the world.

> _And I know where you belong and it's not here_   
>  _Upon this earth_   
>  _I just wish you could have told me_   
>  _And not given me this curse_

Perhaps they haven't deserved him. Perhaps he has been too brilliant to stay a mortal with them. Or perhaps it has been something else totally different.

  
But all those reasonings and bargainings won't make it less hurt, won't make the pain go away. None of these things will make him feel whole again. It's like happiness has been ripped away from him and leaves behind destruction and devastation waiting to explode into million shattered shards of glass, all embed into his chest every day when his son is not here.

  
How many more day will he have to live with such torment and grief?

  
Another question joins the rest, adding more sorrow to a father's worn out soul.

> _And I know that I get lonely when I think about your smile_   
>  _And those moments when I know I could have helped_   
>  _I should have tried_   
>  _And I'm sorry I get angry_   
>  _When I know what you have lost_   
>  _But now you're home_

He visits the grave the next day. All of the flowers he has picked are red, his son's once favourite colour. Bruce carefully lays the flowers down in front of the headstone, trying his best to avoid the words carved into stone.

He knows them by heart now anyway.

"Hey kiddo, how are you doing?"

  
A gentle breeze whistles in his ears, laughing as it blows away in the other direction. The man shivers, crouching down low to pick some the overgrown blades of glass.

  
They feel like razor blades against his fingertips.

  
"We are...doing fine, I guess." He croaks out the words, trying not to sound so miserable. " We miss you, so much, but if you're satisfied with wherever you are..."

  
_I can't do this darling..._

  
He feels the wetness trailing down on his cheeks.

  
_...why?_

  
Bruce presses his forehead on the hard, smooth surface of the headstone, successful in smearing some of his tears on it. The man then places a soft kiss on top of the piece of stone before standing back up and walks away.

> _And I'm sorry I get angry_   
>  _When I know what you have lost_   
>  _But this fear I built inside_   
>  _Came at a cost_

His fingers toy with the bo staff as he mindlessly stares at the family photo on Tim's room wall. His eyes are fixed on one of his son's bare arms, scars are partly hidden because they have been pressed to his shirt.

  
There were many sights, of course.

  
But did he notice, or make any effort to notice them?

  
He admits, he had been really afraid to ask why Tim had been so reckless those last months of his life.

  
Maybe he had thought if he ignored the problem, it would go away.

  
Instead, he put some more effort into spending time with his kids, which clearly hadn't been enough to save a life.

  
Bruce swallows hard, his grip on the staff tightens.

  
The blade from one end of the staff comes out in a swift movement and slices the back of his hand a little.

  
Bruce feels no pain, letting the blood drip down on the blade, and the floor.

> _'Cause now you're home_

His head feels fuzzy out of the sudden as he hears a faint, familiar voice.

  
**_"Bruce?"_ **

> _And now you're home_

**_"Dad?"_ **

* * *

His eyes snap open and Bruce shots up from his position on the chair. The chair flies back, crashes into the wall and makes a loud, startling sound.

  
"B?" Tim's voice. He is hearing his son's voice and he is probably hallucinating too.

  
Because in front of him, there is a teenager with an ebony mop of hair struggling to sit up in a hospital bed, a pair of sky crystal blues peeking out from behind the shaggy bangs.

  
"T...Tim?" He asks with his softest voice, never taking his eyes off the teen. He's afraid that if he does, his son will disappear and never come back.

  
"B, B what...? You don't look so good." Tim's voice is rather scratchy like it hasn't been used for a while.

  
But it doesn't matter.

  
Because his son is here. Here and alive. His arm has been wrapped in a heavy, thick bandage but he is breathing and talking.

  
And he has to go and worry about someone's wellbeing before himself. Bruce shakes his head as memories come flooding back in his mind, washing the nightmare away.

  
Right. He had arrived just in time to bring Tim to the hospital. There had been no real letter, it was an unplanned suicide. Cass, however, had found a note, half written with most scratched out in Tim's drawer a while later. He has read and unintentionally memorized that one.

  
Bruce could still feel the sticky blood on his hands and clothes when the nurses closed the door in front of him and tried to save his son's life.

  
Tim flatlined once. Just once and he had felt his world falling apart from behind the glass window. But then his son had started breathing again, his heart had started beating again.

  
It had been three days. Bruce only went home once two days ago, letting Dick and Jason stay to watch over their little brother. He came back after not even half a day later, sending both his older sons home to get some rest.

  
Alfred visited yesterday, forced him to change clothes and eat some food. He didn't remember much after that. But with such heavy sleep (which probably led to the realistic nightmare), Alfred must have drugged him through the food or something.

  
"B? B, you're scaring me. Say something." Reality comes back to his senses and he laughs softly before pulling his son into his arms, wiping his own tears away.

  
"You're alive. You really are alive." He keeps repeating the words over and over again like a mantra, holding his son close to his chest.

  
"I...I'm sorry. I didn't mean to..."

  
"Shhh, sweetheart you are not to blame."

  
"I had a bre...breakdown or...or som...something. I didn't mean to cut that de...deep..."

  
"It's okay. You're okay." He pulls back a little, looking directly into those beautiful blues. "I love you, Tim. I love you so much. My son, my wonderful, brilliant son."

  
He hears a sob escaping his son and quickly gathers the boy back into his arms.

  
"D...Dad...I'm sor...sorry...I'm sorry!" He shushes his son quickly, not wanting the boy to go into another panic attack.

  
He moves himself onto the small bed, being mindful of the bandage and places his son secured inside the protective hold of his arms. Tim buries his head into the crook of his neck, trying to mute his sobbing (and failing).

  
But it's okay, nothing matters to him now. He has his son here, safely bundled up against his chest, warm and alive. His hand brushes through the tangled mess of hair _(not fake fur of a stuffed animal)_ and his lips kiss his son's warm forehead _(not a cold headstone)_.

  
As Tim has calmed down, Bruce reaches over to grab a glass of water and urges the teen to drink some. Tim manages to finish one third of the water.

  
The boy then snakes his arms around his middle and leans in even further for comfort. Tim lets out a small hiss as his bandage shifts and Bruce almost panics right there and then.

  
"Timmy, your arm." He cradles the damaged arm with great care and accidentally catches a tiny smile. "This is not funny, kiddo."

  
"Your face is funny though." The smile widens and Bruce blinks in shock. The smile quickly turns into an airy laugh. Tim rubs his tears away as the little laugh goes on.

  
"You could have got hurt, sweetheart, do not laugh." He fake scolds his son, who is still busy laughing at his face.

  
"Bu...but your face! I haven't seen that face in ages!"

  
"Unbelievable! You awful child, stop before you hurt yourself further."

  
The laugh continues, maybe even increases at that. The man cracks a smile of his own, patiently waiting for the boy to calm down.

  
Eventually, silent returns with just a snicker randomly ring out.

  
"You finish laughing at me?" He asks, voice teasingly.

  
"Maybe." The boy leans back to claim his initial position between his arms. "The others are at home?"

  
"Yes. You want to see them tomorrow?"

  
"I do...but..." Tim pauses, face turns thoughtful. "You sure Jason's okay? I...I mean, as many death jokes he can tell us, it's still a sensitive subject you know?"

  
_Of course, he thinks about that first._

  
"Jason is, not fine, I admit. But it's because he has been worried about you. He loves you a lot, kiddo."

  
"Okay, okay... Then I want to go home. Maybe the day after tomorrow? I don't like the hospital. Alfred and Leslie can take care of the meds and whatever." Tim looks determined and makes eye contact with him.

  
"I'll talk to the nurse, see if he thinks you're good enough to leave. Your health is more important, darling. If they won't let you leave just yet, your sister and brothers can always visit."

  
"I guess..." Tim yawns. "...that's good too."

  
"Sleep, Timmy. I'm staying with you."

  
"Hmm...love you Dad..."

"Love you too sweetheart."

> _And now you're home_

**End.**

**Author's Note:**

> How was it? This is my one-day-and-kinda-a-half work so it might have been awful.
> 
> However, if you have enjoyed this, leave me some kudos or comments ❤❤❤  
> Those are much appreciated.  
> But if you think this is bad, constructive critisms are always welcome 😄
> 
> Finally, I'm now on Tumblr. You can find me at [@bisexualnerd](https://bisexualnerd.tumblr.com/). It'd be lovely to have anyone dropping into my messages or ask box. Or if you need anyone to talk to, don't be afraid to message me. I'd always be happy to help 😃  
> See ya all later <3


End file.
